


The Other Man

by l57371



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l57371/pseuds/l57371
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Marines all thought he was one of the most likable scientists on the base, one with whom most of them got along, even enjoyed working with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Man

Doctor David Parrish slowly inched his way down the serving line, shuffling forward a step or two then pausing as someone made their selection. He held his tray in front of his chest, a shield against the overly close Marine in front of him. The story the Marine was telling was getting good, and he just knew the man was going to illustrate the size of the massive hippopotabird with – yup, there it was, swinging elbows. He inched the empty tray a little higher and the Marine caught the edge of it instead of Parrish’s chest with his flying arm movements. The crack of the bone hitting the plastic was loud even in the din of the nearly full dining hall.

The Marine quickly turned, bumping into Parrish’s chest shield with his shoulder as he did, and smiled up into the tall scientist’s face. “Oh, sorry doc! I didn’t see you behind me. Did I hurt you?”

“No, but I think you may have bruised the tray,” Parrish replied, a smirk on his lips.

The Marine grasped Parrish’s shoulder and leaned over in a belly laugh. “Oh good!” He thumped Parrish’s arm as he spoke. “We got a lecture, you know, all about being careful around the delicate scientists!”

Parrish chuckled. “Well you know us hot-house flowers,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “We break easily.”

The Marine and his buddies guffawed loudly and he thumped Parrish on the back once more. “You’re all right, doc!” he laughed, taking his meal and his buddies and heading toward the boisterous corner of the mess hall which always seemed to be alive with soldiers.

Parrish turned back to the food choices, smiling to himself. Quickly he made his selections and filled his tray, deftly maneuvering his way through the milling crowd without incident. As he threaded his way toward his usual table he heard his name, and turned carefully to see why.

Major Evan Lorne was striding quickly toward him across the large room. He side-stepped quickly to avoid someone in his path and then raised his gaze back to Parrish’s eyes, smiling widely. Immediately Parrish’s body tensed as his fingers clenched the edges of the tray and it jerked upwards, upsetting his sandwich and causing his drink to teeter precariously and his bowl of leafy green salad to slide to the edge of the tray. He brought one hand down on the sandwich, squashing it into its plate, but tilting the tray again and losing his drink and salad altogether.

“Woah! Doc!” Lorne cried, diving quickly for the glass and managing to snag it out of the air just before it hit the floor. The light pink berry juice, however, hit and splashed, covering both men’s lower pant legs with the sticky sweetness, staining prettily. The salad followed it down, spreading lettuce leaves like autumn foliage, sticking to the juice drops.

For a moment they merely stood, watching as the juice formed puddles on the floor and soaked into their clothes and the bowl wandered in drunken circles before coming to a halt on its top. Parrish felt the hot blush of shame rising in his face and kept his eyes resolutely on the floor, pressing his lips together and breathing jerkily through his nose.

Lorne looked up finally, a delighted sparkle in his eyes, until he saw the furious flush of Parrish’s face and the shaking of his hands. “I’m sorry, Doctor Parrish, really, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly, stooping to pick up the bowl and place it carefully back onto the tilted tray. He tipped it back up so it was level again.

“N-no, no, it’s … it wasn’t that … I just … You-” Parrish shut his mouth with a clack of teeth, attempting to cut off the stuttering flow of meaningless words. His face still felt hot, the blood thudding in his ears. A kitchen attendant approached carefully with a mop and some paper towels.

Lorne grasped the other side of the tray and pulled it away from Parrish, gently lifting his hand off the flattened sandwich. “Come on, Doc,” he said, balancing the tray in one hand and pulling gently on Parrish’s forearm, steering him to an empty seat at a nearby table. “Have a seat, I’ll be right back.” He set the tray on the table and snagged the empty bowl, making his way back to the food tables.

Parrish watched him go, and then sat dejectedly, staring at his steam-rollered sandwich and trying desperately to get his breathing and heart rate under control again. His fingers twisted together under the table, knuckles white.

“Here you go,” Lorne said from behind him, sliding another bowl of salad onto his tray along with a new glass of juice. “Got the last one too, they just ran out of the pink stuff.”

Parrish sprang to his feet again, spinning to face Lorne. “Major I’m sorry for-!” he blurted, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of Lorne’s feet and accidentally catching him in the hip with his open hand. “Oh, sorry!” He snatched his hand back and smacked right into the edge of the table with the back of his hand, hissing in pain.

Lorne grabbed his wrist in a loose grip and held it captive. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” He grinned. “It was time for laundry anyway.”

Nodding miserably, Parrish sank back down onto the chair and hung his head.

“No really, it’s fine,” Lorne said, kneeling down beside him. “Anyway, I just needed to find you to tell you that the mission for tomorrow has been moved up to 0800. That okay with your schedule?”

Parrish nodded again then risked a glance up, his expression quizzical. “You could have just told me that over the radio though.”

“I know,” Lorne replied, flashing his devastating grin again. “But I like the personal touch.” He rose and stepped back slightly. “You going to be okay now?”

Parrish turned resolutely back to his abused sandwich and straightened his spine. “Yes, fine, thank you, Major,” he said, forcing the quaver out of his voice and staring fixedly at his lunch.

Lorne hesitated. “Because you--”

“Fine, Major,” Parrish interrupted, not looking up. “See you tomorrow.”

Lorne waited a beat, nodded once, then turned and left the mess.

 

Major Lorne stood just outside the doorway to the mess and watched as the tension bled slowly out of David Parrish’s shoulders. The scientist slumped forward just a little, rubbed his hand over his face, then planted his elbows on the table and rested his head in his palms.

It was odd, Lorne thought, that the man everyone else seemed to know and the man that he knew were almost two completely different people. The Doctor Parrish that the Marines knew was a cool, competent scientist, knowledgeable, funny, occasionally self-deprecating. The Marines all thought he was one of the most likable scientists on the base, one with whom most of them got along, even enjoyed working with.

But Lorne almost never saw that man. The Doctor Parrish that Lorne knew was jumpy and skittish, usually silent but stuttering when he did talk, sometimes clumsy even. He always seemed preoccupied or maybe embarrassed, never quite looking Lorne in the eye. He kept his head down and did his job but he wasn’t the cool guy that the rest of the military thought him to be.

Case in point, Lorne thought. When he’d stood there earlier and watched Parrish’s interactions with the Marines in line, he almost didn’t recognize him. The smile and laugh was something he almost never got to see. Which was a pity, Lorne thought, as that smile was devastating. He thought he could definitely get used to seeing that smile. Days, nights, any time really. But as soon as Lorne had approached, he got the other Parrish, the klutzy, shy, tongue-tied Parrish.

Lorne watched as Parrish finally turned his attention to his mangled sandwich and forlornly started to eat, gaze fixed on his tray. He wondered sadly if it was just that the botanist didn’t like him or if he was scared or intimidated by him. Either way, he thought, I have to find out. If it was dislike, he could transfer Parrish to another team, as much as it would hurt to do so. If it was fear or intimidation, maybe he could fix this. He grit his teeth in steely determination. He wasn’t going to give up that easily.

 

Two hours later, feeling slightly more stable and more in control, Parrish squared off with his boss in the labs.

“You can’t equate the physics of energy production to botanical reproduction!” Rodney McKay’s voice rang though the lab and out into the hallway. He paced up and down in front of the three open laptops, waving his hands beside his head in emphasis. At the side of the room Colonel Sheppard sprawled in a chair, hands laced behind his head, a smirk on his face as he watched the exchange.

“I’m not equating it,” Parrish replied reasonably in a much lower tone of voice. “I’m simply saying that the casing of the ZPM has a biological component and it seems to aid in the prevention of atomic breakdown.” He leaned back against the lab table, the edge of it digging slightly into his hips, and crossed one ankle over the other, crossing his arms as well, the very picture of serenity in a maelstrom of argumentative words. A slight smile graced his lips as he watched his boss rant. “If you want to create a ZPM of your own, you’re going to have to take into account the usage of biological material.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure the Ancients had to resort to biology to keep their physics from breaking down, but I’m smarter than that,” McKay muttered, turning back to the middle screen and poking viciously at the keys. “Improved shielding would probably accomplish it much better than your seed pods.”

Parrish rolled his eyes and glanced sideways at Colonel Sheppard, who grinned and rolled his eyes back. “And when you discover that it’s actually not possible to re-create what they had without biological involvement, then will you look at the research I’ve done?” Parrish asked, raising one eyebrow and tilting his head in question. “I think you’ll find it’ll be a great help when you completely fail to make a casing that will hold.” His voice turned wry as he shot another look to the Colonel and was rewarded with a silent laugh and a headshake. What can you do, it’s Rodney.

“Fine. If, by some outlandish, completely unfathomable, utterly incomprehensible chance my research somehow does not produce a workable casing model, then I will look at this fictional picture book you call a research paper and see if there’s anything remotely usable in it. Happy?” Rodney turned to look over his shoulder and glared at Parrish, hectic colour in his cheeks.

Parrish smiled innocently, uncrossed his arms and held his hands to the side. “Ecstatic,” he replied. Sheppard was openly chuckling as Rodney fumed.

Sheppard’s gaze flicked over Parrish’s shoulder. “What can we do for you, Major?” he asked, still smiling widely.

Parrish’s breath caught in his throat as he whipped his head around to see Major Lorne coming through the door to the lab. As Parrish turned, his balance shifted and he slid sideways along the edge of the lab table. He tried to bring his other foot around to catch himself but it caught on his pant leg and lurched even further sideways. Desperately he grabbed at the edge of the counter, succeeding in grasping it with his left hand but only hitting the edge with his right wrist. A flash of pain shot through his hand and up his arm, jolting through his shoulder and making his fingers spasm. His arm scraped down the edge of the table and he landed on his elbow, shooting fresh bolts of pain through his arm.

“Parrish-!” “Doc!” Both Sheppard and Lorne shouted and lunged forward and reached for the tumbling scientist while McKay flattened himself against the lab table opposite trying to avoid Parrish’s flailing legs. Sheppard managed to get there first and slipped his arms under Parrish’s shoulders, saving him from an ungainly landing flat on the floor.

For a moment everyone froze, then Sheppard shifted his feet and attempted to lever the taller man back onto his feet. Lorne reached for Parrish’s hands to give him a little help.

All through his spectacular fall, from Sheppard’s first glance behind him to the moment everything came to a halt, time had seemed to slow down and telescope outwards for Parrish, his gaze focused on Lorne’s face as it morphed from a smile to surprise to something between fear and shock as he fell. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears as he saw Lorne surge forward, arms outstretched. Now though, now he could see the ghost of a smile on Lorne’s lips as he reached out to Parrish.

He’d done it again. Lorne had to think he was a complete git, an absolutely hopeless stumbling fool. Every time, it happened every time! All he had to do was get one look at that smiling face or hear Lorne’s soft voice tickling in his ear and he lost all control. His legs refused to cooperate and his arms flailed like startled birds. He dropped things, he stumbled and tripped, all just from a word or a look.

And now Lorne was reaching out to grab his hands. Already Parrish could feel his heart clenching and the sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

He jerked his hands backward and elbowed Sheppard square in the stomach, who fell backwards, pulling Parrish with him. He landed right between Sheppard’s legs and fell back, the back of his head connecting hard with Sheppard’s chest.

“Ooouch,” Sheppard groaned, not even attempting to get up. Instead Parrish hurriedly scrambled up and away from Sheppard, crab walking until he could get far enough to stand by himself.

“Jeez, Doc, that was ... Well, I’m not sure what that was,” Lorne said, one hand behind his head and the other resting on his hip as he watched the men disentangle themselves. “Are you all right? That looked like it had to have hurt.”

“Fine! It’s ... I’ll be ... No, it’s-” Parrish broke off as his tongue ran away with him again. He yanked his jacket down and looked around himself, searching for an excuse to escape.

Lorne took a step forward and raised his hand, but pulled back at the last second, his hand stopping in mid-air. “I just wanted to make sure you had time to hit the firing range today. I was going to go with you now if you wanted.” Lorne was using his ‘calm down the natives’ voice.

“Oh, the firing ... I don’t ... it’s ...” Oh god, he couldn’t even string together a sentence. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes up to meet Lorne’s. “I can’t right now, sorry, I have to go.” He gathered himself together and turned to go, forcing his feet to work together. As he reached the door he turned briefly and met Lorne’s eyes again, then escaped into the hall. He all but ran for the transporter, waiting until the door shut behind him before leaning his forehead against the wall and breathing deeply.

It was another five minutes before he calmed down enough to hit the button for the botany labs.

 

“WHAT was THAT?” McKay asked, still pressed against the edge of the lab table.

Sheppard gingerly sat up on the floor, one hand rubbing his chest while the other held the back of his head. “Yeah, Major, good question,” he echoed. “What did you do to him?”

“I - Nothing! I haven’t done anything to him!” Lorne replied, eyes wide. Yet, his mind supplied treacherously.

“Well he certainly looked afraid of you,” McKay said, reaching a hand down to aid Sheppard. “He was fine until you showed up.”

“I know, I know,” Lorne said, pacing a few steps away, turning, pacing back. “I don’t know why he gets so jumpy around me.”

Sheppard took McKay’s hand and got to his feet, dusting at his pants. “Better figure it out, Lorne. I don’t think that letting him off world like this is a good idea.”

“He’s not usually this - well, this bad, I guess,” Lorne said plaintively. “I mean, he’s always been skittish around me, but nobody else. And it’s just gotten worse lately.” Lorne rubbed at his forehead with his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ever since our last team movie night.” The night I got to watch him sleep, he thought.

Sheppard crossed his arms and leaned back on the counter beside McKay. He raised his eyebrows and waited.

“We were watching something Lieutenant Perillo picked out but she decided to turn in early and Salas went back to the mainland, so Parrish and I were going to finish it but we both fell asleep on the couch. He woke up first when the movie was over and he woke me up and then we left.” Lorne turned to face the other two men. “Ever since then he’s been more jittery than ever.”

“Well Major all I can tell you is that he was just fine before you came in, he was talking and walking and making sense and everything.” Sheppard shared a look with McKay, one Lorne couldn’t interpret. “I would suggest you go find him and fix this before he really hurts himself.” He rubbed his chest again. “Or someone else.”

“Yes, sir,” Lorne said, making his way to the corridor. He turned back to say one last thing, but stopped when he saw McKay and Sheppard turn back to the computer, Sheppard’s arm draped over McKay’s shoulders, McKay shuffling sideways until he was pressed up against Sheppard’s side. Lorne smiled, thumped his fist softly on the doorway and left.

 

Parrish paced through the city corridors, eyes down, shoulders hunched. Over and over he replayed in his mind the gong show that had happened in the lab, the spectacular fall, the cringe away from Lorne’s helping hand, the unceremonious exit. His head hurt, his wrist hurt, practically everything hurt from the beating he’d given himself in the lab. Finally he calmed himself enough to take note of where he was and looked up to discover he was nearly to the south pier greenhouses. Well, if nothing else, he may as well get some productive work done today. It was all but certain he would be going nowhere tomorrow. Aside from blowing off the shooting range practice, he’d just proven himself to be unreliable, clumsy and a danger to himself and others.

He breathed deeply of the warm, humid air in the greenhouse, grabbing a pair of gloves and a large tray of pots. He slowly began to make his way along the seedlings on the left side of room, pulling weeds, transplanting the bigger plants. As he worked he lost himself in the gentle rhythm of caring for the tender shoots, certain that they would never care that he occasionally turned into a Keystone Kops film in the presence of a certain very attractive Air Force Major who no doubt thought he was an irredeemable dork.

Finally he came to the end of the long room and opened the door, letting in a rush of cool sea air which dried the sweat on his face and opened his drowsy eyes again. Parrish only hesitated a moment before setting down his tray of pots and stripping off the gloves. He stepped out onto the raised pier and walked slowly to the end, lowering himself to sit on the edge, wishing it were close enough to the water to dangle his feet in the ocean. Hunching forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and sighed.

 

Lorne stayed where he was, in the shadow of a support pillar, and watched as Parrish left the greenhouse by the other door and strolled to the end of the pier. Following him all the way to the greenhouse had been remarkably easy, the other man never even looked around himself once to see if anyone was there. All Lorne had to do was stay a good twenty feet behind him and it was as easy as following breadcrumbs. He didn’t think that this was Parrish’s original destination but this might be easier than confronting the other man in his quarters. Lorne knew Parrish felt more comfortable among the plants than among anyone or anything else in Atlantis.

He could see just how competent and together Parrish was while caring for the plants. His hands were deft and sure, his steps measured and confident. His voice as he talked to the little seedlings was steady, no sign of a quaver or a shake or a stutter. So the man could talk to Marines and plants and even McKay in ogre mode but he couldn’t talk to Lorne.

Once he was sure that Parrish had settled in for a few minutes Lorne made his way into the greenhouse and out the other door. Parrish was still sitting, hunched over and miserable looking, at the end of the pier. Lorne cleared his throat but Parrish didn’t even twitch. Deciding to go for broke, Lorne started walking toward the other man, making sure his boots fell heavily to make some noise as a warning to the other man. Parrish still made no indication that he’d heard anything.

“Hey, Doc, I was-” Lorne started to say but just as he started speaking, Parrish whipped his head around, eyes wide and mouth falling open. As he did, his body shifted and he started to slip off the edge of the pier. Madly his hands scrabbled for purchase on the slick material of the pier.

“Parrish!” Lorne shouted, abandoning subtlety and diving for the edge. As he landed, arms outstretched and hands grasping, he saw Parrish’s body tilt and slowly tip off his perch. Lorne’s hands closed around fabric and he tightened his fingers like a vice, holding on for dear life to whatever it was he’d managed to grab while praying fervently that he didn’t follow his teammate into the drink. Finally his body stopped moving, thankfully still outstretched and spread-eagled on the pier, arms, head and shoulders hanging over the precipice, and for a long moment he stayed utterly motionless, breath stilled in his lungs.

“Major?” Parrish’s voice was high and tight and coming from somewhere beneath him.

Lorne’s breath returned in a rush. “Hi, Parrish. How’s it going?” he asked lightly.

“Oh, you know,” said Parrish with a tiny, hysterical giggle. “Just hanging around.”

Lorne snorted a small laugh and took stock of the situation. He had managed to grab the waistband of Parrish’s pants in his left hand and Parrish’s left forearm in his right, but he couldn’t pull the man up again because he had nothing to anchor himself with. The only other option was to...

“You’re going to have to climb up me, Doc,” Lorne said. “I’ve got nothing to grab onto, so you’re going to have to climb me like a ladder. Think you can do that?”

Parrish was silent for a long moment, eyes trained on the crashing waves below. “I ... I don’t think ...”

“Come on, Doc, you can do this, just go hand over hand like you’re climbing a steep hill.” Lorne shifted slightly, widening his legs and praying that it was enough to keep from following Parrish right over the edge. “Parrish?”

“David,” Parrish said after a moment, sounding distracted and still staring downward.

“Okay,” Lorne said slowly, “David, stay with me here, come on.” He lightly shook Parrish’s belt to get his attention back. “Start climbing, Doc.”

Parrish swivelled his head around and fixed his gaze on Lorne after a moment’s wandering. He blinked slowly and then shifted enough to swing his right hand up to Lorne’s arm, grabbing hold and hefting himself upward enough to grab on to Lorne’s shoulder further up with his right. He twisted his fingers into Lorne’s uniform sleeve and prepared to haul himself up again, pausing while he caught his breath.

“Okay, Doc?” Lorne asked, twisting his head around to look at the struggling man. He sucked in a quick breath when he saw how close Parrish was, the tips of their noses brushing, sharing panted breaths and staring deep in into the other man’s hazel eyes.

For a long moment neither man moved, but then Parrish’s fingers slipped out of the fabric of Lorne’s uniform sleeve and Lorne started sliding further over the edge of the pier. Lorne’s eyes widened even further and he used the last of his strength to haul upwards with the hand still holding onto Parrish’s belt, yarding him up and over the edge of the pier, twisting as he pulled. Parrish landed in a sprawled heap on the Ancient concrete, one hand still twisted in Lorne’s uniform jacket.

With the effort of the motion, Lorne’s body twisted around and his legs swung out to dangle over the precipice from which he’d just rescued Parrish. His falling weight yanked on Parrish’s limp body, pulling the panting botanist back to the edge of the pier. Quickly he spread his legs as Lorne had and grabbed wildly for the falling man, twisting his other hand in the jacket beside the first one. He rolled his body slightly and pulled Lorne back up with him as he rolled, flattening the other man against himself as he rolled. The force of Lorne’s return to the platform of the pier kept the two men rolling, finally coming to a stop with Lorne beneath the panting Parrish, noses only separated by an inch, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths.

Lorne was hyper aware of the heavy body of the other man pressing him into the hard surface of the pier, thighs and hips and stomachs and chests all lined up and weighing him down. For a long moment he froze, said nothing, barely breathing. Then just as he was getting ready to speak, just as he sucked in air to say something, he felt the brush of Parrish’s lips against his own, softly but with no hint of hesitation, an introduction rather than a request for permission. He felt his eyebrows shoot up and for a few seconds he didn’t know what to do, enjoy it as something he’d wanted for ages or stop it and assert some little bit of sanity. Then he didn’t have to make a choice at all.

Parrish jerked back and scrambled to his feet, running full tilt through the greenhouse and into the corridor beyond, disappearing around the corner.

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Parrish pounded down the hall, skidding around the corners and ricocheting off of people as he careened through the corridor, heading for his quarters, the only place he could be assured of privacy. Finally he caromed down a familiar hall and he slowed to a stop in front of his door, swiping his hand in front of the sensor and falling through as the doors swished aside.

He stood just inside after the doors shut soundlessly behind him, his heart pounding in his chest, blood thrumming in his ears, hands shaking. His stomach roiled, sending bile burning up his throat and he bent over, hands on his knees, swallowing spasmodically. Finally his stomach settled enough that he straightened only to have his vision swim dizzily. Carefully Parrish leaned back against the door, sliding down to sit on the floor. He rested his forearms on his raised knees and thunked his head back against the Ancient not-metal doors.

He opened his eyes and looked around his room. The plants on the desk, creeping vines and flowers craning their heads to the windows, all just the same as they had been in his apartment on Earth, yet different, so very different. He was going to miss this, miss the sameness and yet alienness that everything in Pegasus seemed to have. Miss the people, miss the opportunities, miss the city, even if he couldn’t control it with his mind like others could. Like Major Lorne could.

And when Lorne caught up with him, Parrish thought, he would be gone. He levered himself off the floor to find his duffle bag and start packing.

 

“Dammit, Parrish,” Lorne muttered, carefully rolling over and pushing himself to hands and knees. “Couldn’t you have waited just one more minute?” He grunted as he pushed himself up to his feet, carefully stretching and feeling all his limbs. Good, no breaks, no strains, nothing more than a few bruises that would heal. He looked back through the greenhouse. Deserted. He took a deep breath and started jogging.

By the time he finally got to Parrish’s rooms, after first checking in the main greenhouses and a couple of the more obscure and hidden balconies only to be pointed in the right direction by Parrish’s hapless victims in the halls, he was feeling much looser and relaxed, the adrenaline from the whole pier incident waning from his blood stream.

He waved his hand in front of the crystal. No answer. He frowned and slipped the life signs detector from his vest pocket surreptitiously and checked. One life sign, directly in front of him. He waved at the crystal again; still no answer.

“Parrish!” he called, resorting to knocking on the door with loose knuckles. “I know you’re there, c’mon, open up!” He heard muffled movement and then the door opened, revealing Parrish standing back from the door, backing away slowly after stretching to wave his hand in front of the control crystal.

“Major,” Parrish said warily, clutching a duffle bag in front of his chest.

“Can I...?” Lorne broke off as he waved a hand vaguely, indicating the inside of Parrish’s room.

Parrish stepped backwards quickly, nearly tripping over the jutting leg of the rolling desk chair. His arms windmilled as he regained his balance, letting the bag fly. It landed half on the bed, then slid to the floor in slow motion. Both men watched it as it oozed over the edge and landed on its side.

Quickly Lorne stepped inside and let the door shut behind him. He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes resolutely studying his boots. Finally he glanced up at Parrish’s red face. Parrish was also studying his boots and refused to meet Lorne’s gaze. “Why’d you leave?”

Parrish looked up sharply, taking in Lorne’s quizzical features and unthreatening posture. “What do you mean?” he finally said, his voice a whisper.

“Why did you kiss me,” Lorne asked, taking a hesitant step toward the other man, “and then leave? You left before...” He took another step, trailing off, then another.

“Before what?” Parrish asked. He wanted to run, to flee, to escape from the man in front of him. He wanted more to stay where he was. Parrish was equal parts sure that Lorne was either going to deck him or kiss him.

“Before I could do this,” Lorne said, his voice dropping to a husky register, and took the final step that brought him flush with Parrish and looked up into his face. Parrish’s eyes were wild and his hands twitched, his breath coming and going in short, sharp bursts from between open lips. Lorne reached a hand up to Parrish’s neck and tugged him gently forward. He met Parrish’s open lips with his own in a soft, barely there kiss.

After an endless and all too brief moment Lorne pulled back, mere millimeters, and let his eyes flutter open to look at Parrish’s face. The other man had barely moved. His lips were still parted slightly but his eyes were closed. Lorne waited until they fluttered open and the other man pulled in a breath, blinking wide eyes.

“You-?” Parrish said, his voice a breathy whisper. He raised a hand and lightly brushed his fingertips over Lorne’s biceps, his cheek, his chest.

“I, what?” Lorne said, his mouth curling into the beginnings of a smile and his hand tightening again on the back of Parrish’s neck. He leaned in again, kissing harder this time, coaxing Parrish’s lips open with the tip of his questing tongue. The other man responded hesitantly before getting into the swing and opening to Lorne, deepening the kiss and welcoming him in. He raised long arms and wrapped them around Lorne, tugging him closer.

Lorne broke away with a gasp and sucked in a much needed breath, then trailed his lips down the column of Parrish’s neck, sucking lightly and flicking the tip of his tongue over skin prickling with the beginnings of afternoon stubble.

Parrish held on tightly, panting quickly as he angled his chin up and to the side, granting Lorne easier access to his neck. He pulled again on Lorne and shuffled his own feet until he was plastered flat against the other man’s body, rubbing slightly as he moved. A moan escaped his lips at the sensation of the other man’s flak vest rubbing against his chest and he could feel the pockets and tabs as they scraped against his skin through the shirt. One pocket flat caught against a nipple and sent exquisite shots of pleasure through his belly and down to his groin. Helplessly he thrust his hips forward, seeking contact.

Now it was Lorne’s turn to moan against the skin of Parrish’s neck as he felt the hardness of the other man coming into contact with his own. Even through the layers of material it was possible to feel the heat rolling off of him in waves. Lorne made a quick executive decision and pulled Parrish in the direction of the bed. Their feet tangled together and before they could stop it they fell, arms akimbo and legs splayed out. Lorne twisted as they fell and ended up on top of the other man and together they bounced slightly as they landed. The shock made Lorne pull back for a second and look at Parrish’s face again.

“You!” Parrish said again, his face alive with wonder, his eyes wide open.

“Me,” Lorne agreed amiably, reaching for the hem of Parrish’s shirt and running his hand over the flat belly beneath. “And you.” He quickly kissed Parrish’s lips again and then pulled back to peel off his own vest and uniform shirt. Parrish leaned up on his elbows to watch the clothes coming off, his tongue flicking out to wet his swollen lips. When Lorne had divested himself of his shirt he leaned forward and did the same for Parrish, his gaze dropping to the sparse hair on the surprisingly well formed chest of the tall doctor. Lorne’s hands followed his eyes and he stroked down Parrish’s chest and stomach, watching as the muscles jumped and quivered under his touch. Slowly he bent and placed a kiss on Parrish’s stomach, then at the V of his ribs, then at the notch of his throat.

Parrish growled low in his throat and grabbed Lorne’s head, pulling the other man up to meet him in a fiercely possessive kiss, all teeth and tongue. He wrapped one long leg around Lorne’s and used his greater height to push them over, rolling until he was on top. Lorne let out a surprised grunt around Parrish’s tongue, then relaxed back and let Parrish do his own reconnaissance.

Suddenly he felt Parrish’s long, agile fingers, tracing around his full penis, rock hard in his pants. His fingers mapped out the contours, finding the base and the head and stroking up and down the sides through Lorne’s uniform pants. He was too close to let this go on for long. He let out a desperately choked moan, hoping it would convey his condition to Parrish as his hips bucked up without any input from him whatsoever. Parrish merely continued to squeeze and stroke until Lorne was beyond stopping and he felt himself pulsing in his pants, hot jets of come spurting out but having nowhere to go into his underwear as he groaned low and long, breath hitching with each pulse. Lorne resolved to feel embarrassed about that when he came down from the orgasmic high.

Parrish’s fingers slowed and finally stopped but his lips kept moving, kissing Lorne’s chin and cheeks, down his neck and up to his ear, planting one on each cheek bone. His hips kept moving too, thrusting his own throbbing erection against Lorne’s hip as he continued to kiss whatever he could reach. Lorne shifted slightly and worked a hand between them, mapping out his own exploration of Parrish’s cock still trapped in his pants. The sticky mess in his own gave him the impetus to try to free Parrish before he came. Deftly he unbuttoned and unzipped the other man’s pants, again finding the long hard member with his fingers, squeezing and stroking through his boxers until Parrish’s breathing hitched, gasping in small breaths as his hips stilled and his muscles tightened. Then he was coming as well and Lorne continued his ministrations, easing him through spasm after spasm until the other man slumped against him, mouth open and panting against Lorne’s cheek.

“You,” Parrish sighed, his hands resuming their slow stroking of Lorne’s body.

“You keep saying that but you never finish,” Lorne said, smiling. “Me what?”

Parrish paused for a long moment. “Thank you,” he finally said, “for saving me from falling off the pier.”

“Thank you for saving me too,” Lorne replied. He waited, sure that the other man had more to say.

“You’re so beautiful,” Parrish said, his eyes closed so as not to look at Lorne while he spoke. “I feel like a fumbling fool around you.”

Lorne felt his face heat up. Beautiful was one thing he’d not been accused of in a long time. “You are beautiful too,” he finally said, crooking one finger under Parrish’s chin and gently pushing his face up, waiting until Parrish opened his eyes. “Not fumbling or a fool. You certainly weren’t when you pulled me up from the pier.”

Parrish was silent for a long moment. “No, not then I wasn’t.”

“No, you were competent and brave and in control, just like always.” Lorne leaned forward slightly and firmly kissed Parrish’s flushed lips. “What say we lose the sticky underwear and fumble a little more, Doc?”

“David,” Parrish replied, looking earnestly into Lorne’s face before pushing himself up and beginning to peel out of his uncomfortably cold clothes.

“I’m-” Lorne began, unbuckling his belt and loosening the button and zip of his trousers.

“Evan, I know.” Parrish glanced up from under his lashes, flushing a little and smiling shyly.

Lorne smiled and pushed his pants onto the floor. “David. I like that.” He sat up and held a hand out to Parrish. “Shower?”

“I’d like that, Evan,” Parrish replied, pulling Lorne to his feet. He teetered for a moment, then caught his balance and tugged the other man closer. He leaned down a little and trailed his lips from Lorne’s ear to the join of his shoulder, then back up to whisper in his ear, “I’d like that a lot.”


End file.
